


WHAT'S TWO PLUS TWO?? (4, 3, 2, OW!)

by futureboy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Clubbing, Multi, Polyamory, Pre-Poly, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futureboy/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Gavin and Lindsay have their eyes on a good-looking regular at their favourite club… And god knows the two of them can dance.[Gavin+Lindsay dynamic. Mavinsay. NSFW.]





	WHAT'S TWO PLUS TWO?? (4, 3, 2, OW!)

**Author's Note:**

> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]
> 
> Title from Lizzo’s [‘Boys’](https://open.spotify.com/track/0j77ikAaghcss4idQVcAXT?si=M-sXSRAqRRKWzTF3pNDS7w).

They don’t come to this club often, but when they do, it’s for a reason.

“I just wanna see if he’s there,” Gavin whines, whilst they’re waiting in the queue outside. “He looks so _good_ all the time, Lindsay. It’s doing stuff to me.”

“You say that like you’re the only one of us he’s affecting,” she grins. “I hope he’s wearing that short sleeved hoodie again.”

“With the tight black shirt underneath? Yeah, he’s worn that a couple of times, I really like that one.”

Moving past the bouncers exposes them to a wall of sound, all jittering basslines and needle-like snares. The club’s lit in vivid purples and dense blues, yellow spotlights whizzing around the dance floor and periodically blinding them. The bar is sticky. The air is electric. Gavin and Lindsay are shoulder to shoulder, waiting for drinks and the right guy to come along, and every so often, they shoot each other devilish looks. They both know exactly how the other is feeling, and they both know exactly what the other wants.

“Spotted him yet?”

“Nope,” Lindsay says. She’s got roughly ten tiny straws sticking out of her glass. “I’ll let you know.”

“Samesies,” Gavin says, in all too serious a voice.

They sidle their way onto the main floor, even though there’s ‘no drinks allowed’ - honestly, who the fuck took any notice of that rule? - and start swaying, easing themselves into the beat of the music like a scalding bath. And then, after a short race to finish their drinks, in the most obnoxious straw-gurgling manner possible, they leave the plastic glasses on a nearby table and start getting into it.

And boy, do they get into it.

The thing about Gavin and Lindsay is that they both like to dance with their hips and shoulders, meaning that when they dance together, they become a flurry of synchronised movement. When one switches from the hips, the other gives up the shoulders, and soon people are giving them a respectable berth on the dance floor.

People are pouring in now. It’s getting crowded. Lindsay can crane her neck all she wants, but she’s still not going to be able to see through the wall of people to the other side of the dance floor.

“I can’t see him,” she whines loudly. Gavin’s not listening.

“Oh my god,” he says, grabbing her arm and half-heartedly bobbing, “oh, shit, Lindsay-- Knob _and_ arse, he’s _right damn there_.”

She flaps at his limp grip until he lets go and points, extending a shaky hand towards the man’s general direction. He’s maybe twenty feet away, on the other side of the dance floor barrier - with a big group of friends, no less. Someone in their party is handing out shots, and he slams his without a second thought at all.

“He’s wearing that hoodie.”

“I _know_.”

“He looks so good. That shirt is fucking incredible.”

“So what exactly _is_ our game plan?” Gavin says curiously, following Lindsay around the outskirts of the club room. “We didn’t really talk this through. Like… At all.”

“Don’t need to,” she says, “he’s hot, _we’re_ hot, and we’re gonna see if he wants some. No biggie.”

Gavin wants to say _oh, God_ , because he knows where this is going and he _loves_ it. He doesn’t say anything. The darkness masks his turned-on, rapid fire blinking, and lets him follow his girl over to their mark.

He’s alone. His friends are on the other floor, singing along loudly to a club mix, and he’s still finishing some chaser or another by the sidelines. Gavin kinda likes that he doesn’t seem to want to take his glass on the dance floor, because there’s an undercurrent of rule-adherance there that he wasn’t expecting.

Lindsay edges up close to his left; Gav instinctively takes the man’s right. They’ve boxed him in.

“Special occasion?”

“Uh,” he says, swallowing and looking perplexed. “Not really. Just a night out. Can I help you...?”

“Depends if that accent’s the real deal,” Lindsay says coolly. It’s New Jersey, and she likes it.

“We could be accent mates in Texas,” Gavin smirks.

“It’s real if yours is,” the man replies. His teeth clack against his plastic glass.

Lindsay’s fingers trail up his arm as it falls back down. “Nice tats,” she says.

It’s a sight, a beautiful goddamn sight and a half, to see the beginnings of a flush creeping up his neck. “Thanks,” he says. He’s obviously taken aback, but not fragile enough to be unnerved. Gavin notes that he’s left his other arm - the one not balancing his glass on the dance floor barrier - pointedly free at his side. If he didn’t want the attention, then assumedly, he’d have pocketed his own hand to protect himself.

But he hasn’t. So Gavin reaches for the man’s fingers, curling his remaining palm loosely around the inside of his elbow.

“I’m Gavin,” he says, leaning in close so the man can hear him. “That’s Lindsay.”

“Michael,” is the reply. Gavin takes a brief second to imagine how that foreign ‘L’ sound would taste in his mouth. “I’ve seen you in here before.”

“We saw you too,” says Lindsay, smiling devilishly. “Wanna find out more?”

And Michael, who’s been wetting his lips and fixing them with alternating, scrutinising stares throughout, drains the last of his drink and slams down the glass. “Fuck it,” he says, “why not? Although I will say, if this is a weird mugging set-up, I’ve got _dick_ -all on me right now.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not.”

Lindsay leads him by the wrist, with Gavin following close behind. Funnily enough, ‘dick-all’ is what they’re after.

“Where are we going?”

“Here is fine,” Lindsay decides, and backs Michael up against the wall of the club.

“What?!” he asks, “what if someone catches us?”

“They won’t,” she grins, and Gavin stares at her in awe. Her pupils are blown-out black blots, glittering with strobe lights. This carpet-walled corner of the club suddenly seems like the best - no, the _only_ \- option. Whatever happens has to happen _here_ and _now_.

“We’ve got you,” Gavin murmurs, feeling solid ribs under his palm, and Michael fixes him with a parted-lips look.

Then Lindsay gently turns his head, buries her hands in his gorgeous curly hair, and kisses him. Over the music, Gavin can feel a little rumble of surprise vibrating in Michael’s chest.

Whilst his best friend and their man are preoccupied, Gavin decides to check out Michael’s neck (ticklish), the little space behind his ear (soft against his lips), and the hot skin just under his hoodie (also ticklish, but probably because Gavin’s fingers are cold). He narrowly avoids being poked in the eye by Lindsay’s hand and presses a little affectionate kiss there too, accidentally prompting a break in their snogging.

She pulls back, smiling radiantly, and catches Gavin’s eye. Her hands start wandering south.

 _My turn_ , Gav thinks.

“You’re not gonna freak out, are you?” Michael asks, proving that he’s more observant than anticipated.

It’s true. Gav’s bouncing around all over the shop, energy ricocheting around his limbs like a turbulent game of Pong. “I’m good,” he says truthfully, “I like kissing, I’m decent at it and I’m gonna like kissing _you_. Yeah, I’m good. Come and kiss me, Michael,” he says, “let’s kiss each other--”

“God, shut up,” says Michael, and wrangles him in.

Michael’s got a slick tongue and a steady hold on his shirt. Gavin swipes up along his bottom teeth, and both of them shiver with it.

“Holy fuck,” Michael spits out, muffled, and that’s when Gavin opens his eyes to see Lindsay fiddling with the button on Michael’s trousers. Holy fuck, indeed.

“Hey. Eyes on me, boi,” he says against his Cupid’s bow, inhaling when Michael exhales shakily. “Me and Linds, we’re gonna take right good care of you. Proper care.”

His eyes have little flecks of white light and hazy reflection in them, and Gavin’s so close that he can see electric thoughts jittering about behind Michael’s pupils. Michael chooses that moment to look up again, staring Gavin straight in the face - Gav has to blink in astonishment at how steady each other’s gazes are, like he’s trying to clear condensation from his vision.

He doesn’t think twice about leaning in again. He swallows an almost-frightened huff of panic, and the soft warmth of Michael’s bottom lip goes incredibly well with the humming groan of Lindsay’s open mouth, finally making a start on what she’d been intending to do all night. Michael jolts with an elastic ping. Grabs Gavin’s arms with masculine hands.

God. Every bump on the tip of Michael’s tongue is wracked with shivering basslines. He licks into the corner of Gavin’s mouth, and over the music, Gavin can feel the rumble of a moan. Like purring. He curls a hand around the back of Michael’s neck to keep him still.

Below him, Lindsay blindly pats at Michael’s knee, Michael’s thigh, Gavin’s hip, Gavin’s hand-- and ah, that’s what she was looking for, because she tugs wordlessly towards her hair. Gav realises with a thrum of arousal that she wants him to hold her head. He edges over so that she’s more sheltered from the rest of the club, and with both hands occupied, he takes a second to enjoy the new motion he can feel. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmurs against Michael’s teeth. Michael can’t hear him, and probably doesn’t care. Somehow, he slips into huffing out breaths against Gavin’s temple, so Gavin has a cheeky nip at his collarbone and loves the way it makes him jump.

“Holy fuck,” Michael repeats, “holy fuck, holy _fuck_ , oh fuck. This is crazy. This is insane.”

“Sssshhhh,” says Gavin, tugging on his hair, and Michael’s whine rumbles down his neck. There’s insistent murmuring, he can feel it against his skin where Michael’s lips are pressed tight, and Lindsay catches his eye, and Gavin thinks maybe he’s about to lose it along with Michael. “We’ve got you, let it happen, boi--”

“ _Fuck_!” Michael spits, the words coming out strangled against Gavin’s shirt. Hands tighten in the back of hair and his clothing, and Michael’s fits are so vice-like that they pinch. He shudders; Gavin can feel club lighting pour in through his own stupidly blown pupils.

Lindsay rises, as though she hadn’t been uncomfortably crouched above the club’s alcohol-soaked floor for the last few minutes, and crowds Michael against the wall. “Fuck _me_ ,” she says in wonder, looking delighted, and wipes her chin on her sleeve before she kisses him. Her hands are still fumbling with his belt, but in reverse this time, and Gavin can’t tear his eyes away.

When she pulls back, Michael’s expression is open and shocked - he still has a forgotten hand twisted in the material at Gavin’s ribs. “I think I need to thank you both properly,” he croaks, with considerable effort. Lindsay noses at the hair that curls behind his ear.

“We can do that,” Gavin grins.

“Yeah,” beams Lindsay, and loops her arms around both of their necks. “My place, his place, or yours?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [pillowfort](http://pillowfort.io/futureboy) and tumblr - come say hi!
> 
> Kudoses, commentses, and subs are always welcomed. Thanks for reading ♥


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